Disclaimer: Yay! Last night BBC called me and gave me Lestrade if I'd stop whining about not having the Sherlock characters. Isn't that wonderful? I'm so happy. Right. Sure. If you believe that one then I've got some prime beach front real estate in Yuma, Arizona going spare. Want to buy it from me? Still not mine and I make no money from these stories.

A/N: Thank everyone for sticking with this and to the reviewers that I am unable to reply too: I really appreciate each and every review. They make me feel good. Even the bad ones…which seriously I haven't had. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and should you every join the site and leave me a review I'll reply to each one. I always do. Now on with the story.

Friday and Saturday

Friday

The beeping had become a background noise that he didn't really hear more quickly than Mycroft could have imagined. That steady beeping meant that Gregory still lived. It meant there was a chance his husband would get better. At the moment Gregory was in a medically induced coma which meant that it was very possible he'd wake when the drugs were out of his system. He was also breathing on his own, another excellent sign.

For the first time since Gregory had been moved into this room Mycroft was alone with his husband. Sherlock and John had taken Aurelia, now Atriebiba, to the cafeteria. The doctors and nurses had other duties and had only popped in to adjust the IV drip or check on Gregory's vitals.

Knowing he was completely alone Mycroft let his mask fall and leaned his head down on the bed by Gregory's hip and clasped one of the limp hands in his own. "Please come back to me, Gregory," he whispered. "Please don't leave me alone. I can't do this without you."

Sherlock stopped John before they could enter the room and the two headed back to the waiting room to give Mycroft a few more minutes alone. "He's going to be a basketcase for a while," John observed.

"It's not the first time Lestrade's been injured on the job, John," Sherlock scoffed. "It's not even the first time he's been in hospital."

John rolled his stiff shoulder and shook his head. "But they weren't fighting then, were they?" He sat on one of the hard hospital chairs with a wince that had Sherlock sitting beside him and squeezing his scarred shoulder to try and massage some of the pain out.

Sherlock dug his fingers into the muscle and John groaned in pleasure and relief. "They're not fighting now."

John snorted his disagreement. "Maybe not fighting but there's definitely something wrong between them."

Sherlock nodded. "I hate it when Mycroft meddles. But if they haven't fixed things a week after Lestrade wakes up then we'll…nudge them."

John smiled and nodded before laying his head on his husband's shoulder and closing his eyes. He thanked God every day for finding this crazy, brilliant man for him to love and be loved by.

Saturday

"Mycroft," Sherlock's voice intruded on his dream of the first time he'd seen Gregory and Mycroft scowled before he opened his eyes. "Mycroft, wake up."

Mycroft gave his brother a baleful glare. "Why?" He asked harshly. Then his eyes widened and hope washed over him. "Is Gregory awake?"

Sherlock shook his head with a frown. "They want to take him for some tests. He should have woken from the medication last night."

Mycroft's glare grew in intensity. "I know that," he snapped and then drew in a breath. "Fine. Why are you waking me to tell me they're taking him for tests and what time is it?"

Sherlock grinned one of his shark-like grins. "They can't take him when you are attached to his hand like sticky tape. It's almost seven, brother dear."

Mycroft reluctantly let go of Gregory's hand and stood up to stretch. Two orderlies wheeled Gregory's bed from the room under his critical eye. So many tubes and monitors. Mycroft swung his gaze back to his brother. "I thought you and John had gone home to sleep."

Sherlock shrugged and flopped down in the chair Mycroft had just vacated. "We did. I came back. Where's Aurelia?"

"Artiebiba now," Mycroft corrected. "She's off finding out why Gregory's security failed. It only took one phone call to find out why yours did."

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and started typing. "Hmm, vengeance," he murmured. "Good name."

"Pardon?" Mycroft spluttered. "What are you talking about, Sherlock?"

Gray eyes slowly met his. "Artiebiba. It's Latvian for vengeance. Didn't you know? You're slipping, brother."

Mycroft sank into a chair beside his brother. "That certainly explains her sudden need to check on all the security teams. Your team simply got lax as I hadn't been pressing them for information as much as I used to."

Sherlock sneered. "Because it's so much easier to kidnap my husband and press him for information on me."

Mycroft allowed himself a smirk. "More fun that way too. I quite enjoy having tea with your husband. He has an interesting view on the world and you."

Sherlock shot him a contemptuous look before returning his attention to his mobile. "Really?" He drawled. "Then tell me; when was the last time you did so?" Mycroft opened his mouth to give him a scathing retort only to shut it in shock when he couldn't remember. "When was the last time you dropped by 221B?" Sherlock continued. "When did you bother Mrs. Hudson last? Or Molly? Or called Mother?" Sherlock set his mobile down in his lap. "Can't remember?" He pierced Mycroft with those gray otherworldly eyes. "I didn't think you could. At least five months for each of those questions, Mycroft."

Mycroft's jaw worked as his brain sped to deny those facts. "That's ridiculous, Sherlock. It can't have been that long. I know I've been busy but it hasn't been that bad. What are you driving at?"

"That your husband isn't the only person in your social circle that you've been neglecting." Sherlock held up a hand to stop Mycroft's spluttering denials. "Stop it. You can call it anything you like but you've been neglecting all of us. The others are all very understanding," he sneered the word as though the taste of it was disgusting. "I am not. You are hurting all of them and I…care about them. I will not allow you to hurt them anymore by your inattention. Either shape up or I'll cut you out of their lives for good." His eyes blazed. "And you know I can and will do it, brother." His words ringing in the still air Sherlock stood up and strode from the room.

Mycroft watched his baby brother stride away in shock. Had he really just threatened him? Well, yes, threats from Sherlock were frequent but the fire in his eyes had told exactly how much he meant it this time. Mycroft leaned forward and put his head in his hands. What had he done? How was he going to fix this mess?